Musings
by samaragaunt
Summary: A series of random one shots, changing POVs. See Chap 1 for warnings.
1. Chapter 1

(Okay, ladies and gents, here's how this story's gonna work. I'm going to write a bunch of one shots, one each day. They'll be from different POVs, with different pairings and genres. Nothing will be a continuation. This chapter's story ends with this chapter. Next chapter's story ends with next chapter. Capiche? There will be slash, het, maybe femslash, cussing, kissing, angst, fluff, fun, sadness, the usual. No smut since I'm not cool with writing that.)

Chapter One Warnings: Het, excessive pronouns, an uncertain genius' point of view

Reid wasn't waiting for her. He really, truly wasn't. He was just looking across the street, where her window happened to be.

It had all happened rather gradually. Apparently, his apartment had belonged to her best friend. She'd leave a message in big letters on her window for the friend. She hadn't known her friend had moved yet, so when he saw a URL on the window across the street he typed it in to the computer, curious. It had led to a private chat room, where she'd talked to him and he'd explained what had happened. They ended up talking about the symbolism in Disney movies until three in the morning. Which most people would think was creepy, but they thought it was fascinating.

The next morning, the window had an email address. He sent an email, not expecting a response, but he got one.

It kept going like that for weeks. Now, a month and a half later, she knew more about him than anyone on the team, and he knew her life story. She was a beautiful person, conversation flowing effortlessly and freely between them. She could talk about the French Revolution's impact on the arts just as easily as her favorite movie. She could entice him into contributing without statistics. He thought she was as close to perfect as anyone he knew. She was physically beautiful, too- they'd talked on Skype- and she didn't seem to mind his appearance. He wrote to his mother about her and she'd told him to take her out before some other man snapped her up, and he'd wanted to, he'd desperately wanted to. He wanted her.

There was only one problem.

She was in high school.

She was only fifteen, though mentally they were on the same level. And no matter how much he desired to spend the night talking to her in person, there were boundaries he could not cross. When he woke up with her name bitten between his teeth, he felt dirty, awful. Like the pedophiles he tracked at work, preying on the young and innocent. Technically, he would be classified as an ephebophile, as she was a teenager, not a child, but in the eyes of the law it was all the same.

The blue curtains across the street parted, and he saw her figure in the light. She smiled, blew him a kiss, taped a piece of paper to the window before leaving the frame.

_Thursday night, Washington Theatre, 7:30 pm. Symphony. Row 21, seat 34. Wear a suit._

He leaned against the wall, staring hopelessly at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't know what he would do.


	2. Chapter 2

(Spoiler for Jones, and I'm kinda fuzzy on the whole Will/JJ timeline, so maybe a wee bit AU.)

JJ had always been kind of a loner. She liked people, there was no question of that. She enjoyed company. She had friends- not many of them close, but some- and she cared about them. But in the back of her mind, she really preferred to be alone. She liked silence, liked staring into space and thinking for hours on end. Sure, she was bubbly and friendly and sometimes that made people (read: sexist police chiefs) think she was dumb. That was not the case.

She wasn't unfeeling, the cheer wasn't a façade. JJ enjoyed her job and the people she worked with; she cared about them like they were her own family and she would be crushed if anything happened to them. There was just no one she wanted to spend every single moment of every single day with.

Then she met William LaMontagne, and what she felt for him was pretty close to that. The few days she could snatch with him on her rare vacation time were a tangle of closeness and skin and whispers, smiles and the bittersweetness of this-may-be-the-last-time, because with their jobs it could be. Next came the proposal, which she accepted in a heartbeat. After came the pleading, the requests for her to come live in New Orleans, but the city was too loud and unclean for her. Quantico was a suburb in comparison, quiet, groomed. It reminded her of home. After a month of pleases, she compromised, asked him to move in with her. His response, a drawled "Chere, I was just waiting on you to ask," made her heart melt all over again.

But it became clear quickly that she still needed space. They shared a bedroom, but each had a study/office of their own. Sometimes she needed to get away from him and the rest of the world. It was there that she laid on the couch, hands folded on her stomach, that she felt a flutter of movement under the few pounds she'd gained. She had furrowed her brow, placed her fingers again on the little mound of flesh, waited. Again, a movement. Not her pulse.

When the doctor greased up her belly when she told of her symptoms, she was confused. He flicked on the machine, and there she saw something unmistakable.

A person. A little person in her. And she felt pretty dumb for not thinking of that first. When she called Will and broke the news, he cried and made reservations at some French place to celebrate.

Months later, she was covered in sweat and her hair was a mess and she was stuck in a tiny little room that was mostly bare. And she looked at the baby in her arms and she cried too. They were happy tears, hormone tears, important, special occasion tears.

In the years that followed, she watched Henry grow. She saw him take his first step, listened to his second word from Michigan over the phone. She finally found someone she wanted to spend every single moment of every single day with, someone to help and hold and nurture. Now, alone was second best.


	3. Chapter 3

(Hehe. A little OOCness...)

Morgan looked around his office anxiously. Door? Shut, locked, soundproofing placed around the edges of the door. Blinds? Down. Computer? Off. It had a webcam attached, and he didn't trust Garcia not to watch him.

He pulled his iPod out of his pocket, still sending the door and windows nervous glances. He turned it on, plugged the earbuds in and squinched his eyes shut. Doing this didn't make him any less of a man. It didn't make him gay. It just... wasn't his usual fare. That didn't change who he was. After all, he was Derek Morgan, ass-kicker by day and lady's man by night. He was the supreme badass of the FBI, along with the rest of his team. Even Reid was a badass- an intellectual badass, sure, but a badass none the less.

He turned up the volume and scrolled through the contents of the little MP3 player. He found what he wanted, hit the button and stared at the screen, immersed in what was taking place before him. It was fascinating (and a little bit repelling to the homophobic part of his psyche), and he found himself noticing details as he watched. _Ooh, that was smooth. I wanna try that... he did that _really_ well...._

Eventually, he couldn't resist it any more. He was affected by the acts he saw, and desperately desired to participate....

The locked door was opened by a very angry looking Hotch, and Derek ripped the earbuds out of his ears, sat down and shoved the MP3 player under his thigh. "Sorry for locking the door, sir, I was working on a... personal project." Internally, he was thanking his body for not letting himself blush.

Hotch narrowed his eyes. "I saw the iPod, Morgan. What was so important that you felt the need to lock the door?" He held out his hand.

Derek let out a huge sigh and unearthed the device from the chair. The video was still playing. Hotch looked it over amusedly. "So, you were getting up to....?"

He looked at the desk and in a small voice said, "Dance. I was getting up to dance." He felt like a kid in the principal's office.

Hotch surprised him. He winked and placed the thing back on the desk. "I completely understand. You are off the hook this time, but may I offer a bit of advice?"

Morgan nodded.

"Watch Glee at home. There's probably more room to dance."

As soon as the door was shut, he plugged the earbuds back in and danced, sang along softly.

"Dream a little dream of me...."


End file.
